Down to New Orleans
by hndsmrndsm
Summary: A tragic accident, emotions run rapid with House in the crossfire. Set in the past just prior to meeting Wilson! AU Read and review please!


DISCLAIMER!: I have never, ever, even for a millisecond, owned House! It belongs to David Shore and Katie Jacobs (L:

_**PS!**_**: This takes place in an alternate universe in which House dies.  
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**This takes place prior that, more specifically- in his late twenties to early thirties. **

**POV: Young House's hopefully not too OOC  
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**Enjoy! (:**

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I heard two clicks. He slapped the cold iron cuffs on my wrists and closed them so tight I couldn't bend them.

"Get in the car." Oh crap.

I'd never seen Dylan so upset about anything before. Yeah, sure we've wrestled to the ground over a scratched CD, but this wasn't anything like that. I mean, Paul was dead because of me. It was only an accident, I was involved indirectly. If I hadn't been fooling around and if Paul hadn't been the one recording it on Dylan's stupid camcorder, none of this shit would've ever taken place and he wouldn't be dead. We would'nt be here.

He was upset and then I didn't know what was coming, so I obeyed. I walked to the passenger side of his car and he pushed it open from the inside. It was hard getting inside with my hands cuffed together, though somehow I managed. I couldn't shut the door or put on a seat belt. Dylan didn't care. He hit the gas and sped down Greiner Road at limit breaking speeds. The door flapped open and slammed shut when he made a sharp turn at Salt. I almost flew out the side, but the slamming door prevented that and left my face squished up against the window. Dylan glared and kept driving.

I knew it probably wasn't a great idea for me to try talking to him, but curious me, I found my voice was shaky,"Shouldn't we be going to the hospital…." Y'know, where our friend was. Our dead friend, the one I killed. I don't see why those ambulances still take them there; I'll have to ask one of my professors. It seems so pointless. What are they going to do? Run blood tests, an EKG to confirm he's DOA.

He didn't look at me, just the vacant road ahead. "We're taking a short detour."

God, I hate it when he does that. He looks so fucking scary. The dark lighting is making his the pupils in his dark brown eyes dilate and he looks like a fucking demon. He had a sinister look in his eye. Scary as hell, that shit right there.

"I wanna get out of the car." I demanded. I was beginning to feel desperate, which is unlike me. I was getting the sweats; I was going to die. He was going to kill me. Dylan didn't respond. "I want to get out of this fucking car right now!"

Then the car came to a sudden halt. My body jerked forward with my head hitting the windshield. My head was throbbing and I could feel a headache starting up. All of a sudden the lure of sleep came over me. I was so tired. Maybe I was concussed. I could've fallen asleep there but Dylan's car door slammed shut and my eyes fluttered open. Then mine opened and there he was towering over me.

He yanked me out of the car by my collar and I stumbled to my feet. The sky was dark without a single cloud in the sky, though there was a thick fog hovering over the road; it was a warm March night. I got a quick glimpse of our surroundings. He drove us to some empty field out in the middle of Clarence. The nearest house was probably two or three miles away and no cars or trucks ever drove this way this time of night because of all the fog the roads out here are notorious for.

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"What're you two kids doing here at this time of night…." The old country man started climbing out of his car; he had a thick Southern accent. When he noticed Dylan in mid-swing with me dangling from the collar of my shirt that he had a white grip on he looked startled. "My God!"

Dylan let go of me, straightened himself up and pulled out his badge from his coat pocket. For some reason his voice seemed deeper, to sound more professional or something, I don't know.

"It's alright sir, I'm an officer." I tried wiping the blood off my lips, but the cuffs restrained me from doing so. I keep forgetting those damn things are on.

The old man looked at Dylan as if he'd just told a joke, then he flipped open his wallet revealing a badge of his own. "So am I."

Dylan bit his bottom lip and scratched the back of his neck. Well, this was awkward for him; he wasn't expecting him to be in the force as well.

"Well then, I'll just finish up here and you go on. There's nothing to worry about, I've got it all under control." He smiled innocently. Yes, please leave. Don't notice the blood on my fist… or the semi-conscious man next to me. Just go.

"Alrighty then." My stomach flipped over a million times. I thought it was over, but no, just on hiatus. "But you go ahead and leave, I'll take over. It's getting late, Sonny, and I'm sure you've got little ones and a lady to tend to."

Dylan stood confused. I don't believe in any God, but I prayed he'd take the offer and just leave. I don't think he knew how to respond to this man. He had a girlfriend, but no kids. He and his girlfriend weren't even that close. And I could see in the firm clenched fist at his side that he wasn't finished with me yet.

"Actually…" He started, then paused and nodded. "Yeah, I'll go."

And just like that, he was gone. Hopped in his El Camino and drove into the night while I was still lying on the damp grass covered in my own blood with my wrists bound behind me. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest throughout the entire conversation. It felt so loud it was a wonder neither of the two officers turned their heads to me. But until I heard Dylan's car engine gradually fade away into the distance could I feel safe. It was a great relief. I've been taking shaky deep breathes.

"So how are we doing over there?" The old man chuckled, after Dylan was long gone. He walked over to where I was deep breathing and kneeled over me.

"Oh, just peachy." I grimaced when he place two fingers on my carotid pulse site. There was a bruise on my jaw just above where he put them. He accidently put pressure on it and it set a wave of pain over me.

He muttered an apology and I muttered a 'No problem'. We were all good.

He listened to my breathing and did a bad job of it. You're not supposed to let your patient know you're counting their breaths. Breathing is involuntary when it's necessary, like if you're unconscious, but it can be controlled if you're alert. This guy had his ear inches from my mouth and he counted the breaths aloud softly.

He smiled, "Well, you're not dead yet, son." He extended his arm out to me. "Let's get you into the vehicle and I'll take you down to the station where we can have a little chat."

I smiled kind of embarrassed; it hurt a little to smile. "That may be problem." I moved my wrists around, with difficulty, to jingle the chain on the hand cuffs.

"Oh, right." He turned me over on my side and pulled me up. He put his arm around me and all the movement of my arm cause me to cry out. I stopped and stumbled to the ground with tears streaming down my face. My arm was on fire, or it might as well have been. It was unbearable. I was yelling and cursing my brains out.

The old man ran to his cop car and came back with a set of keys he said might work on these cuffs and a first aid kit.

He fumbled around with the keys until finally they were off. I was free. My wrists were relieved of the pressure and felt light. My right arm hung loosely by my side and the pain was excruciating when touched.

The man touched it and I held back a whimper. "I think you may have dislocated your shoulder."

"No, really?" He dug around the first aid kit and pulled out the triangle bandages. "Hey, do ya think there's any Aspirin or some medicine like that in there?"

"Nope. Sorry." He started making a sling to hold my loose arm and he tied it together behind my neck. "There we go. Feeling better?"

"I guess."

"So let's hit the road." He helped me up again and this time I made it to the car. He opened the door for me and then he went around. I got in and buckled myself. He started up the car, the engine came to life and we started the drive to the Clarence Police Department. The car was silent. I was staring out the window at the fog; the man drummed his fingers against the steering wheel whistling to himself. Then he stopped.

"I'm dying to know, what the hell happened back there?"

I shifted in my seat. "Nothing."

He gestured to my arm and laughed, "This seems like a whole lot of something to be called nothing."

"Well, what did it look like? It was a fight. It was nothing." I rubbed my right wrist with my left hand. They were still pretty sore.

"What in hell's name did you do to piss a guy off so much that he nearly kills you? Did it start off as a bar fight or something? Is this guy even really a cop?"

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "Yes! Yes, he's really a cop. And he's my friend, why do you care?"

He incredulously stares at me with his jaw slightly agape. "He's your friend? Son, then you best be finding yourself some new friends 'cause no one is worth the shit he put you through tonight." He tapped the steering wheel, "So… what did you do?"

I sat silent. I didn't want to tell him what really was going on. He was a stranger. Hell, he was a cop. He might take it the wrong way if I say I killed a guy, might have me put away. I didn't really kill him. _You just keep telling yourself that._ Dylan's voice haunted me in a harsh whisper.

"But it wasn't my fault." I said back to him every time, that'd just earn me an extra jab in the gut.

"What?" The old man brought me back to reality.

"What what?" I said confused.

"What do you mean 'what what?'? I said, 'What wasn't your fault?' " Crap, I didn't mean to say that out loud. How can I fix this…? I couldn't think of a good way how without injuring myself and the only guy who's helped me out all night.

"Just some stupid accident."

"Okay. Alright," His voice was quiet. He pulled over to the side of the road. "What happened?"

I told him everything; about Dylan telling us to wait for him and not to take the camera and how we didn't listen. How I thought it'd be fun to make a really sick stunt video while skating down Hillcrest and how it didn't turn out quite as we planned. I described the scene to him: Paul's body crushed underneath the Wegmans truck and all of his blood pooling on the sides, my girlfriend and Paul's older sister going into hysterics and bawling their eyes out of their sockets, and of course Dylan cursing his lungs out at me.

"I didn't even shed a tear when I saw him lying there. I just stood there stunned. I didn't say anything. I just stood there. I just fucking stood there and stared. I can't go back there. I can't face them."

We sat there in silence for a few moments. Then he inhaled, "Well you have to face them sometime. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but they're your friends. Ya'll work this out." He ignited the engine and with a roar, the car was moving again.

I shook my head and slid down in the seat. I knew we wouldn't. These people were my friends, I knew them and we were all alike and I knew me. I won't be able to make the effort of trying to fix this, so they won't. Even if it did work itself out it would be a touchy subject and nothing would be the same ever again. I was shaken up from this, too. They didn't understand. I was there when it happened. I was the one who convinced him, he didn't want to disobey Dylan, I was being selfish. I was the one who gave him the camera. I didn't call out his name in time. I watched his body get crushed like a pancake on pavement. It was my fault indirectly but what no one seemed to get was that I'm troubled. I don't mean to sound whiny, but nobody cared that I survived the crash, that I might've gotten a concussion, or that it could have been me lying in the morgue tonight. No one cares that I almost died. But almost dying doesn't change a thing... the reality is that Paul still died and that changes everything.

"So you're running away like a coward, that's the right path?" The cop spoke up and my eyes fluttered open.

I thought about it, "Well, what else am I going to do?"

"Face them."

"I can't."

"Then I don't know..." He ummed to himself and tapped the steering wheel. "Where you planning on going?"

"I... don't know. I haven't given it a lot of thought." I really hadn't. Then it came crashing down on me. I couldn't just leave, could I? Start all over in a new town, different state? Different college? I guessed I didn't have to be gone that long, just have to give them enough time for it all to blow over.

"Well start giving it some thought! And, well..." He pursed his lips, "Actually, you caught me at a good time. Tomorrow I start my two-week vacation, I'm driving to New Orleans to visit my cousin for his 65th birthday. Yer welcome to come along for the ride, if you want. I could drop you off anywhere in between there and here, or I could just drop you off there... or leave you here. Whatever you want."

That medical convention I was planning on blowing off is in New Orleans. Maybe I'll actually go, or just hang out at the bar. Either would be good, or both.

It is Mardi Gra, anyway, and you never know.

Might meet someone.

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**:D Nowww, who does he meet in New Orleans?**

**Hmmmmmmmm?**

**I know it never happens like this, but I just think it would make it more interesting.**

**Read and review please! (:  
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